the leaves have all blown away
in the autumn wind
skinny bare gray branches will break –
under the weightof the heavy snow
almost as heavy as her sigh...
and the wind plays with her hair
sitting cold on the old stone bench
with her thoughts
trying to compromise –
how to choose
without making a choice
is the hardest choice of all...
and the wind plays with her hair
her feet are bricks as she trudges home
but home is not really home
it's just another place to be alone –
passing a bright open cafe door
laughter warm and cookies
her shoulders are bricks now too...
and the wind plays with her hair
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